


Whore [Gerard Way]

by sinfuljoshler



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9367640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuljoshler/pseuds/sinfuljoshler
Summary: They always tell you to never trust a man who cheats on his wife. Maybe they're right. Maybe when I go home and cry to my best friend and she calls him a fool for not loving me... Maybe I'm the fool.





	1. 01.

_A warning for vulgar language, infidelity, suicide, and smut._

☹

I know it's stupid to love him. You don't have to tell me twice. I know I'm just a phone number. An excuse. An escape. It's foolish of me, really. To think that he actually would care.

He doesn't.

To him I'm just another whore.

I'm not.

He was my first, even though I didn't tell him that. I was pure before I met him. I watered the roses growing on my windowsill. Now they sit, dead. Like my heart.

There's nothing poetic about it. There's nothing poetic about crushing someone's heart into the dirt. Yet somehow he made it seem that way. He made it seem like using me was a kindness, a blessing.

It wasn't.

Every time he would show up it was the same. No passion, or love, or respect. It was me being tied down and then left with a simple goodbye.

It was always, "I can't wait to fuck that tight little cunt of yours.". No passion, no grace.

There was never anything beautiful about it. It was always him gasping and panting, pulling my hair and leaving bruises on my skin for everyone to see. And then he'd leave.

I was only a phone call. And here he is right now, standing over me with those intense hazel eyes. He cups my jaw harshly, sucking on my bottom lip. But there is no love being his actions. Only lust.

His hands roam over my skin, leaving behind trails of goosebumps. His hands dip into the jeans I'm wearing, tracing the lace panties he'd bought me.

He loves giving me presents. But never something I want. Always what he wants. Lingerie and _toys._ Never does he consider that I crave books and fuzzy sweaters.

He rubs my clit absentmindedly, kissing me deeper. His tongue roams my mouth, he tastes like mint. A clean taste, and yet the way he's moving against my mouth is so _dirty._

He throws me on the bed suddenly, making me cry out. His strong fingers pin my wrists down. He kisses my neck, biting it enthusiastically. He pulls my jeans off, leaving my legs bare and vulnerable.

He pulls the panties he gave me down, shoving a finger into me.

"So wet baby. Is this for me?" He murmurs.

It is, but I wish it wasn't. _I wish I could kick you out, tell you to go back to your wife._

"Mhm." I whimper.

He curls his finger, making me toss my head back and moan loudly. The sheets I'd just washed will soon need to be washed again. What we do is unclean, _unholy._ I've tried to scrub away the feeling of his hands, my stomach is littered with red patches where I'd scrubbed away my skin. I hope he doesn't notice.

Would he even care? Would he even realize that he is the reason I lay awake at night, holding in my tears? His fingers wander up, pushing my shirt up. He gasps a little, pulling away. He did notice. But I doubt he cares.

"What happened?" He asks.

I shrug, which is better than actually answering. He shakes his head.

"Tell me." He says.

His voice is unusually soft, it throws me off. "I-it was an accident." I stammer.

He doesn't believe me. His dark, hazel eyes lighten. He leans closer to me, gently cradling my cheek.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

He's just trying to get an answer out of me. He doesn't actually care.

"I'm sure." I reply.

"Do they hurt?" He asks, his voice laced with concern that I'm sure is fabricated.

"No, I'm fine." I say. It's true, the pain of the red patches is overpowered by the pain I feel in my heart.

He nods, and kisses me roughly. I thought that the softness was fake. I was right.

He shrugs off his pants, never breaking our kiss. He pushes me back down, grinding against me. No mercy.

He pins my wrists above my head, tying them to the headboard. Of course. He doesn't want to take my shirt off. The only wounds he wants to see on me are the ones he's inflicted.

He kisses my neck, still grinding against me. I moan high in my throat, my hips bucking upwards. And then, suddenly, I don't want it. I don't want his hands on me. I go limp and he pulls away.

"What now?!" He snaps, like my actual feelings are an inconvenience.

"Untie me, please." I say.

He does as I ask and I rub my wrists gently. "What's wrong?" He asks, his voice filled with annoyance.

"I don't want to do this anymore." I reply.

"Why not?" He asks, crossing his arms.

I can't stop the words from pouring out of my mouth.

"Because I'm not a toy. I'm a person with feelings. I'm not someone you can just fuck around with and then throw away when you get bored. I'm not some kind of escape from your oh-so horrible wife and daughter. I'm not an escape from your the life you chose to have. If you really hate your wife so much then divorce her. If you really hate your daughter then stop being her father. I'm done with this. I'm done being hurt because you're a cruel man who can't make decisions." I say, tears coming from my eyes.

He gapes at me, probably because that's the most I've ever spoken around him. He doesn't look hurt at all.

"Since when did you start caring?" Is all he managed to say.

"Just get out, and don't come back." I snap, wiping my tears away with angry hands.

"You really want that? Once I walk out of here, I'm not coming back." He says.

"Then don't." I reply, pulling on the lace panties he adored so much.

So he leaves. He doesn't stay to try and talk, or figure out anything. He just leaves. He's so good at that. And I'm done. I'm done being an escape. I'm done with this life. I've been done for months. I just never had the courage to actually. . .

I grab the kitchen knife I always kept in my room because I can't afford a security system. I walk into the bathroom and shut the door. I lock myself in. I need to do this before anyone comes to check on me.

The knife cuts through my skin like it's made of paper. It could be, I feel so fragile, so delicate now. Blood drips on the tile floor I always kept clean. It drips on my carefully shaven legs, my painted toenails.

I sink to the floor, sobbing into my hands. I don't care that my blood is staining my paper skin or my clothes. Soon these things won't matter. I hear a knock on the door and I ignore it. I curl up into a ball on the floor and I let the darkness take over. I let everything that's ever hurt me slip away into the buzzing of the AC unit.

☹

I can hear heartbroken sobs, but I don't know who would be crying over me. I haven't spoken to my parents in years, and I know they wouldn't come to see me. I have no real friends.

I peek open one of my eyes to see _Gerard_ of all people. He's sobbing into his hands, his shirt covered in blood, his hands too. The blood is dry, so I must have been out for a while.

I sit up quietly, making him gasp quietly. I ignore him. I look at my arm. The long slice I'd made form the crook of my elbow to my wrist is carefully stitched shut. The stitches are black and glisten in the fluorescent lights.

"Why?" Gerard asks.

Like he doesn't already know.

I don't reply.

I don't want to.

He doesn't deserve to know. He's only upset because he is like a child. A child who broke his toy. That's all I am. Nothing more than a broken toy.

"God damn it, just tell me!" He shouts, slamming his hand down on the nightstand. The bland, yellow lamp wobbles, threatening to tip over. I grab it, setting it steady.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

"Because. . . because I care about you." Gerard replies.

"I don't believe you." I say.

"How can you not? I'm telling the truth!" He insists.

I turn to him. I point my finger in his face. Now I am the accuser.

"Fuck. You. I have never been more than a free fuck to you. Someone to toy with and then slide into the back burner until you feel like thinking about them again. You have never cared about me." I snap.

He gapes at me. There's a knock on the door, and it opens to reveal a woman with dark hair holding a little girl's hand. The woman looks at Gerard in disgust. She lets the little girl run to Gerard.

Gerard looks happy as he hugs her. "Hey there, princess!" He says.

"Is this my new mommy?" She asks. I shake my head, turning away. She grabs my uninjured arm. "Are you my new mommy?" She asks.

I smile gently, brushing hair out of her eyes.

"Nope, sorry pumpkin." I say gently.

"But daddy says that he loves you. He says that you're going to be my new mommy and we're all going to move in together!" She insists.

I chuckle, shaking my head. "That's not me." I say.

"Why not?" She asks, cocking her head.

"Because your daddy doesn't love me. He must be talking about someone else." I reply.

Anyone else.

"Daddy?" She asks, turning to him.

He looks uncomfortable, like all of the things she said were true. "Uh, I do love you. That's why I'm here." He says quietly.

I blush, but I don't believe him. The little girl runs back to the woman and they both leave the room.

"I don't know why you told her that. Are you really that cruel? You'll cheat on your wife then try and convince your kid it's a good thing? This really is a new low for you." I say, not even looking at him.

He grabs my face, pressing his lips to mine. He pulls away a little.

"I meant it. I know I'm a cruel bastard, but I love you. I do. I was too afraid that you would leave if I told you. I know you think I don't notice the things you do. But I do. I notice. I notice how much you love to read and how much you love cuddling. I see these things, I remember. I'm so sorry, for everything I've done. I just didn't have the balls to say that I love you. I'm asking you, please, just give me a chance." He begs,

I gape a little at how sincere he is. His hazel eyes sparkle with fresh, unshed tears. He cups my cheeks and kisses me passionately. There's no lip biting, no groans spilling from his mouth. He's soft, gentle. His thumbs stroke my cheeks gently.

He rests his forehead against mine. "Okay." I whisper.

I hope that my fragile heart doesn't regret this.


	2. 02.

_A little epilogue for those who crave it._

☻

She has her father's smile.

It's a strange thing. Most daughters always look like a miniature version of their mothers.

In all honesty, she did. But her father shone through her in an undeniable way. Bandit would one day be just as beautiful as her father. Her mother was only the cream in the coffee. An enhancement.

It has been three years since Gerard finally decided to repair the porcelain heart he'd shattered.

My heart.

And I've received exactly what I'm craving. The passion, the love, the respect. I can wake up to a stable Sunday breakfast. I can sleep without tears chasing it.

Every touch he lays on me is graceful, soft. It's like he's touching an innocent, fragile rose. Like the ones that flourish on our windowsill.

Every kiss is filled with the love he has for me.

"Good morning, beautiful." He whispers to me.

"Good morning." I whisper back from six inches away.

His strong, weathered hand reaches out, stroking my cheek. I smile, and his eyes sparkle.

This is the exact thing that I've wanted to wake up to. We hear footsteps, and Bandit jumps on the bed. She giggles, hugging me first.

I feel my heart surge. She accepted me almost immediately when I had come to live with them. Gerard says he loves to see us together. I don't see why, but I don't argue.

"Let's go make breakfast, guys." Gerard says, getting out of bed.

"Okay." Bandit and I say in unison.

I wonder if she will pick up anything from me. She's so young. What would she pick up? My habit of clinging to those who hurt me?

And here I am, hating myself again. I realize Gerard is staring at me. I blush, and Gerard tells Bandit to wait downstairs for us.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

I'm not, not really. The period of time when he was with me only for his own pleasure sticks like glue. I remember every second of being in those skin tight tops that were only comfortable to him. I had craved my sweater.

The cold was the only thing that made things real.

The present bleeds over my reminiscing. Gerard touches my cheek.

"Darling?" He asks.

"Hm?" I reply.

"You. . . zoned out. Are you okay?" He asks, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb.

"Yes." I reply.

"Let's go downstairs then. We'll talk later." He says. He kisses my forehead sweetly and then pulls away from me completely.

"I love you." I say quietly. I don't say it often, I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid that I will end up like his wife.

"I love you more." He replies, smiling the smile I always see in Bandit.

☻

I swing our hands, smiling gently. It's a small smile, but still genuine.

Our love is genuine.

Gerard kisses my temple, pulling me closer. He holds both of my hands. In this moment, he's like an anchor. A loving anchor. Never intending to drown, only to keep safe and in place.

We watch Bandit play in the sand. He leans into me, smelling like soap and cologne.

There's so much peace in this moment.

"Care to tell me what you were thinking of this morning?" He asks.

I nod, knowing I can. "I'm just afraid, insecure. I. . . don't want to end up like your wife." I say, wincing at my choice of words.

It isn't what I mean, not with the way it could be read. Gerard stops me, cupping my jaw. My eyes connect with his. They're so warm, the color of his sparkling irises.

"She was awful to me and Bandit. I wasn't the only one who was unfaithful. It doesn't excuse my actions, but I had my reasons. You love me, and I truly love you." He replies, kissing just between my brows.

Bandit runs up to us, hugging my thighs. "I found you a shell!" She said excitedly. I kneel down to her level, taking it. It's beautiful. A deep, rich brown with small green stains on it. It's the same color as her father's eyes.

I smile and watch Gerard and Bandit talk happily. I love them both.

☻

I cook brownies with Bandit, smiling and listening to her talk about her school. I feel Gerard's hands touch my waist.

"Looks good, sugar." He says quietly.

I smile, leaning into him and letting him taste the batter. He smiles as I wipe batter off of the corner of his mouth.

"What would I do without you?" He asks rhetorically.

You'd be alone. And suddenly I realize why I'm here. I wasn't just an object to him. I was his therapy.

His escape.

He kisses the top of my head and helps Bandit grease the brownie pan.

They're my escape.

A beautiful one too.

They give me stability and love. I know they love me as much as I love them.

They are my family.


End file.
